


Kaspbrak's Knitwear

by usnavi



Category: IT (2017), It - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Drabbles!, Gen, Mrs. Kaspbrak's Sleeping Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 18:29:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13036932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usnavi/pseuds/usnavi
Summary: In which there are snow days, battles for Eddie's affections, Beverly carrying Eddie around like he doesn't weight anything, Richie being jealous, and Mike being smug.





	Kaspbrak's Knitwear

**Author's Note:**

> So! I come back bearing gifts—do people even read what I say before these things?— I’m still alive and free from the fuckin grips of scholarly endeavours. I missed shitposting, and now I’m back, so bear with it. I’m gonna be posting a drabble for every day until the first of january, (or the up until just the 25th) so if you want one, you can definitely drop me an [ ask ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/trashhmouth), I swear I’ll do it. Happy holidays, mates!

Richie loved the snow. He loved the cold, sure, but the snow just made him want to curl up and sleep, but there’s shit to be done outside! Snowmen! Snowball fights! Snow angels! Hot cocoa at the Kaspbrak’s! Beverly making a fire pit! Watching the snow fall down on Eddie’s hair and being the one to swat if off! 

 

See, a cold snow day means a great day. 

 

Also, there’s this ongoing tradition with the Losers— and boy, has Richie been working his ass off for it. When snow first falls, Eddie, their resident mother hen and knitting extraordinaire, will bestow upon one of them a knitted production of his own, if Eddie thought they weren’t as much of a jerk than they actually were for the year. Bill was two years ago, and Mike was last year. 

 

He shoves on a parka over his thick, bright red sweater, some mismatched mittens, and put on his shoes, making for the door before his mother could catch a glimpse of him, his breath coming out in thick, white puffs as he bursts outside. His cheeks immediately pink and prickle, making him laugh as he runs for his bike, before pedalling off to the Kaspbrak’s. He catches Mike on the way there, the bright yellow scarf Eddie made for him wrapped proudly around his neck, and Richie snorted at him, but Mike only stuck his tongue out. 

 

“You jealous, trashmouth?” he asked as they pedalled to the Kaspbraks, Richie scrunching his nose at the accusation. 

 

“I’ll have you know that I’m  _ certain  _ I’ll be the one he’s making something for. It was coloured red and blue for fucks sake! That’s our colours!” Richie rants, and Mike looked sympathetic for a second, his eyebrows furrowing in a way that made him look like an asshole from the casino, but he quickly schooled his features into a kinder one, giving Richie a mocking smirk. 

 

“Don’t be so sure,” they made a sharp left straight for the Kaspbraks, “he might think red and blue looks good on me.” 

 

Richie made an affronted noise, “Shut up! You got yours  _ last year _ ,” 

 

Beverly pedalled up to them, her wild red hair tucked underneath a ratty looking beanie, her cheeks already red as she stood on her bike, pedalling casually. 

 

“Hey guys,” she said breathlessly, and Richie wanted to snort at her, but didn’t, because she has scarily accurate aim even when on a bike. She seemed excited to be going to the K’s, and even if she’s just new to the group, Eddie loved her to bits and pieces. Not that Eddie didn’t love all of them, but Richie is sure that Eddie loves him a metric fuckton more. 

 

The ugly green house with wide windows make Richie smile as they bike up to it, Ben, Stan and Bill already on the porch, in their hands cups of cocoa that made Richie jealous, for some reason. 

 

Well, there  _ was  _ a time when it was just him and Eddie on the roof tiles just outside his window, drinking hot cocoa from a thermos and looking up at the night sky, but now, they’re a whole family, but Richie can’t help but just feel… bitter. He’d almost say it’s like having a baby sibling and competing for mommy’s attention, but that’d sound fucking stupid and that’s one thing Richie Tozier isn’t. He’s not fucking stupid. 

 

Stan breaks into a smile as they roll up, Mike waves at the three and abandons his bike carefully near the garage, Richie and Beverly following quickly. They huddle on the porch and knocks dutifully, because Mrs. Kaspbrak always wants them to knock even when they’ve already made themselves known, but hey. Mrs. K wouldn’t be Mrs. K if she weren’t unbearable as all hell. 

 

Eddie greets them when he opens the door, letting Beverly pick him up and swing him around, their laughter loud across the house. Richie sees a slumbering Mrs. K on the living room chaise, her mouth slightly open and cocoa tracks below her chin. Richie giggles at this. 

 

Richie eyes the dark blue beanie on Bill’s head, a simple snowflake to the side, not enough to make it look lame, but enough to make it look like Eddie made it. The same snowflake adorned the bottom of Mike’s yellow scarf, less visible than the one in Bill’s. 

 

When Eddie comes up to him, handing him a cup of sweet-smelling hot chocolate, Richie grins at him, forcing himself not to just demand for his knitwear then and there, because then Eddie would flay him where he stood, and it’s just not pretty for everyone involved. 

 

“So who’s the lucky gal or guy this winter season, Eds?” Richie asks, and Stan rolls his eyes at Richie. Yeah he knows he’s being blatantly obvious, but that’s the thing. You gotta chase after what you want. Bill just smiles smugly, looking comfortable in his blue beanie, and Beverly makes quick work to snatch it off his head and stick it onto her own, her ratty beanie discarded on the kitchen table. Bill makes a noise of protest but settles down when Eddie pulls out a little box wrapped in bright silver gift wrapping. 

 

Ben looked jealous, too, but he also looked warm in his parka and mittens combination, so Richie’s not so sure if Ben’s in the place to be jealous of anyone being given a Kaspbrak Knitwear. 

 

Richie’s heart begins to race, and against his will, sweat beads down his throat. 

 

“I made you mittens and a scarf, Bev.” Eddie says clearly, and if Richie’s heart didn’t fall into his stomach, it’s because it’s broken into so many little pieces that it’s practically fucking dust. The scarf was a beautiful blue-green colour that reminds Richie of Beverly’s eyes, the scarf more of an orange than an actual red. It paired nicely with Beverly’s hair, if anything accentuating her features more, and if Richie didn’t know better, Eddie was secretly a designer for one of those super fucking expensive brands or something. He’s really good at this stuff, you see. 

 

Stan and Ben sag exaggeratedly, their eyes cast low, but Eddie only laughs and pats them on the chest, muttering ‘next time’. 

 

Richie doesn’t even get a fucking  _ consolatory pat _ . 

 

But he does get whipped cream on his hot cocoa. 

 

They decide to play outside once Mrs. K’s in the fourth level of sleep, the one where not even the world’s ending would wake her up from, her glasses put aside by a careful Eddie. 

 

When he makes it back outside, Richie pelts him with a snowball that makes him shriek and retaliate quickly, and maybe Richie should have rethought that action because Beverly is Eddie’s champion today, and Beverly makes a mean snowball. Just last year she threw one and it had Bill’s nose bleeding for a whole hour, Eddie was about to pass out. 

 

He’s sure Eddie’s Winter fanny pack was full of first aid shit for the rest of the gang and not him. Eddie’s caring that way. 

 

Sure enough, Beverly beans him with a snowball right on his face, getting moisture on his glasses and dulling his eyesight. She hoots and ducks for cover when a snowball sails at her, her arms wrapped around a very indignant and very jostled Eddie Kaspbrak. 

 

Ben, Stan, and Richie stood on one end, and Bill, Mike, and Beverly stood on the other, Eddie in the enemy’s arms. 

 

Eddie makes a noise, “I don’t like this!” he screams, and Richie grins, palming the snowball in his hands. 

 

“Hit the redhead!” he orders, and Stan’s snowball makes for Beverly, who ducks out just in time, Bill aiming one back at Stan, who is dodging Mike’s throws so quickly Richie’s not sure if he’s still human. Ben’s making the snowballs, and Richie’s fortifying the, well. The fort. What else should he call it? 

 

“Stan, duck left and rush!” Richie orders, and Stan does just that, dodging Beverly’s well aimed throws, her body moving quickly towards Stan. Their snowballs may be fat and accurate today, but Richie’s the man with the plan— “Stanley! Hit Beverly  _ now _ !” 

 

Sure enough, the snowball hits the center of Beverly’s chest, and she lets go of Eddie, who squeaks as he regains his posture, picks up a mound of snow and expertly tucks it into a snowball, a vindictive look on his face. He and Richie share a smile before Eddie’s barrelling for their fort, sliding behind it just in time to dodge Bill’s spray of throws. 

 

Stan screams “Traitor!” 

 

He and Richie gather their wits at they sit side by side, shoulders touching as they breathe deeply. Eddie looks haunted. 

 

“Beverly really likes toting me around like a chihuahua,” 

 

“You’re chihuahua sized,” Richie replies, pushing his eyeglasses up with wet mittens, but what he doesn’t say is that chihuahuas aren’t cute enough for Eddie. 

 

“I ought to shove a snowball down your throat for that,” Eddie twists to look over their fort, but ducks when a snowball makes for his face. 

 

Richie looks at the snowball in his hand, and then at Eddie, red-cheeked Eddie, his eyes sparkling like snow getting hit by the morning sun rays, and nods. 

 

The battle quickly ends after that. 

 

He and Eddie may be okay on their own, but together, they’re just more awesome than the rest of them. 

 

Beverly nudges Richie by the shoulder as they make for the patch of forest right behind the Kaspbrak’s, the sun waving its goodbye at them. She’s going to make a fire pit, and Stan’s got marshmallows and chocolate in his bag. Richie looks away from a babbling Eddie to Beverly, who is smirking at him knowingly. 

 

She bends her head, “Don’t feel so bad, Rich,” she says softly, “you’re still his favourite,” 

 

Ben joins in on the conversation, eyes peeling off of Eddie, who is conversing with a happy looking Bill. “She’s right,” he admonishes, and Richie thanks the Lord God that he’s pale enough to make the blush on his cheeks seem like it’s from the cold. 

 

Eddie seats himself on the abandoned car carcass and Richie sits clear across from him, on the log between Stan and Mike,  to show everyone that no, he is not Eddie’s favourite, because then they’d  _ confirm _ that Richie’s Eddie’s favourite and they’ll take away his Eddie Privileges. 

 

When the fire starts going, Richie leans into Mike, who leans back into him, and Stan sleepily rests his curly head on Richie’s shoulder, who shivers severely. 

 

The smell of cocoa permeates the air as Ed starts to give out little cups of hot cocoa, his hair flaring out in little spikes underneath his coral coloured beanie. But before he could get to Stan, Mike, and Richie, Beverly already pulled him back to the car, snuggling up to him like a particularly clingy koala with abandonment issues, and Richie shakes his head, making for the hot cocoa in between Eddie’s legs. 

 

He leans his head on the centre of Eddie’s chest when he gets there, too sleepy and too tired to actually move. 

 

_ Something  _ slithers around his neck and Richie startles a little bit, but warmth suddenly envelops him, or his neck, more like, and when he opens his eyes, a royal blue scarf stares back at him, little snowflakes adorned sparingly across it. 

 

“You always forget to wear a scarf,” Eddie says matter-of-factly, softly, even, as he ties the scarf tightly and snugly around Richie’s neck, before running his mitten-less fingers through Richie’s hair, dislodging the snow accumulated from the curls of his hair. 

 

Richie hums and lets his arms wrap around Eddie’s waist, the thermos of hot cocoa giving them both some well-earned warmth. 

 

“Get a move on, Tozier. I want some hot cocoa.” Stan complains from behind him, and Richie snorts into Eddie’s chest. 

 

He loves snow days, because snow days are happy days. 

  
  



End file.
